Exile: Act One
by Capella A. Morningside
Summary: Exiled from their strange homeland, two sisters find their way to Cyrodiil. One searches for family, the other for gold, but finding what they wanted all along wasn't their happy ending-- it was the beginning of a nightmare. Style to change in later acts.
1. I: Introduction

10th of First Seed, Year 434 of the Third Era

I have never been especially fond of the idea of keeping something like a diary around. However, in these recent days spent in darkness and study, I often find my thoughts dwelling upon the past, carefully picking over the path I took to arrive at this very moment, searching perhaps for the very moment at which I strayed so far from my dreams—_our _dreams. I suppose in order to do this properly I should start from the very beginning. From this day forward, I shall share with no other than this parchment the truth of my thoughts and the next paces of my life, as I no longer have a living soul to speak with as freely as I did with my sister.

My name is Etelka, and I was born on the Eighteenth of Evening Star, in the Four Hundred and Fourteenth Year of this Third Era in Tamrielic History. My mother was known as Gasan Annuska, the leader or "Gasan" in my people's tongue of our tribe. I resemble her as closely as a twin—she had dark hair the color of rust, eyes of shining viridian, and a softly tanned complexion. My father is inconsequential. I am sure I knew him at one time, as I knew all members of my tribe, however, Mother refused to marry and relinquish her power as Gasan to a man, and obtained the children she desired through easier, simpler means.

Less than a year after my birth, on the Twenty-Third of Sun's Height in Year 415 to be precise, Gasan Annuska gave birth to her second and final child and called her Svetlana. My sister was fairer than I in the eyes of many, though her resemblances to my mother were paled. She was built with long, thin limbs and golden skin. Her eyes were the color of the sea, her hair like bright copper which as she grew always laid smoothly down the length of her back, her demeanor sweet as tropical nectar. While I stuck close to my mother's side in my childhood, learning everything I would need to know when the time came for my to take my place as our tribe's Gasan, she appeased her unquenchable curiosity with the study of the magic arts. A promising prodigy for the tribe's future, she surpassed most of our people's greatest mages and teachers before age ten, and moved on to study alongside them as an equal.

I suppose I should take a moment here to tell my reader a bit about our people, as they are an extreme rarity in Tamriel. We are known as the Fionncine, and we are the sons and daughters of Fiona, a woman born as an Aldmer on the island of Artaeum of the Summerset Isles. Raised as a Psijic, Fiona committed a trespass against the Psijic Order, the nature of which has been lost in time even to the most learned of my people, which resulted in the exile of Fiona and her accomplices from all shores of the Summerset Archipelago. It is said they were carried to the shores of a mountainous island to the west, summoned as it were by the Goddess of the Spinning-Wheel, known to the High Elves as Ceynir, to the Fionncine, Arnysten. She bestowed upon Fiona's descendants new ears like those of foxes with which to hear Her voice, and gave them long tails to make them able to climb into the high reaches of the steep mountain at their leisure. The island became known as Vizzafir, and its isolated, forsaken people have now lived on their island for thousands of years, eating the bounty of rich mushrooms and berries from the mountain forests and occasionally venturing to the more perilous coast to procure sweet fruits and collect colorful or reflective shells from the sand to decorate themselves and their huts. For all these millennia the Fionncine have devoted themselves to little but nature, the study of the Psijic arts, and worship of their Lady, Arnysten.

It was this world that my sister and I were born into, and it was in this world that we lived for twelve years (her for eleven)—I as an aspiring political and spiritual leader to my people, my sister as possibly one of the most powerful practitioners of the Psijic arts that Vizzafir had ever seen. In the 427th year of this Third Era, our simple time came to an end.

It was the 16th of Sun's Dawn. There was a certain ritual in which myself, my sister and Mother were to summon the spirit of Arnysten on the lawn on the highest point in Vizzafir by the light of the junction of Masser and Secunda, known in Cyrodiil as a blighted omen called the Shade of the Revenant. We danced and chanted as our mother entered a trance to become the waiting vessel for Arnysten's divine Presence, and as time passed, dawn began to approach. We wondered if our Lady would grace us with Her Presence that night at all, and when Svetlana's eyes met mine and we began to wordlessly admit defeat, the earth began to shake beneath our feet. The ground tore apart and a great ethereal Gate rose from the depths of the mountain. We marveled at the sight from a distance, still shaken from the force of it all, and our mother approached and reached her hand through the portal that shone like silver water. Our Lady's voice began to rise in our ears—but it faded, and with it, the warm glow of our Lady's Presence emanating from the Gate.

There was no time for dreading. The liquid silver became a fiery crimson as the sides of the Gate turned black as pitch, and we heard Mother scream. Her wrist was held fast by the hellish portal, and it was pulling her further in. The sky turned the color of blood. Otherworldly growls and roars sounded from the other side of the portal, and my sister and I ran towards our mother.

"Stay back, Etelka, Svetlana! Back! Run!" she yelled at us desperately. More of her arm disappeared, crossed into whatever horrible world was on the other side. She didn't have to stop me; as soon as I saw the terror in her eyes I was no longer able to move.

Svetlana began to pull on my arm, calling at me to obey Mother and retreat with her, and although I could take not another step forward I was unable to turn away either. I watched my mother disappear into that frightening portal of fire, her eyes locked onto mine until we could see one another no more, and even her outstretched fingers reaching for me were gone. It was a vision I would see again and again in my nightmares for years. Even now I am not free of that moment. I couldn't understand. I ponder it to this day on sleepless nights. Had she wanted me to turn away and run as she said, or was she begging for my help in the end?

Creatures the like of which we had never seen appeared before us, first one, then three more, then twenty. There were fire spirits that burned the sacred grass as they walked and lizard-demons with teeth like wide needles, and most frightening of all, great tall shapes of Men or Elves in dark armor with swords and shields. They fell upon us like lightning. My sister and I managed to kill one or two of the creatures before we were overwhelmed and fled into the forest, where waited our kin.

The battle was waged through the dawn. Svetlana was taken by the tribe's Psijic Healers to aid in their efforts and I simply waited, useful as a stone, and watched. Hours passed and the sun rose and set, and still we had not achieved victory. The Fionncine are no military people. There had been many casualties and morale was fading. Gasan Annuska could still not be located, even by the tribe's most powerful Psijics. But just as we began to resign ourselves to death, a stream of fire erupted from the top of the Gate. The demons, though on the verge of victory, began to retreat back through the portal, but few made it as the stream narrowed to a shining red line and vanished altogether. The exhausted forces we had remaining eliminated the fleeing stragglers. Little but rubble remained of the Gate, as well as a large portion of scorched earth in the center of the sacred lawn. In the center was found the bloodied and burned remains of Gasan Annuska with a sphere of rock and cold fire in her still hands.

Fearing and hating the strange sphere, the tribe Psijics forbade it to be touched or moved, and had it, as well as Mother's corpse and the remains of the Gate, buried where they lay under heavy rocks that took several men to move. They claimed the scorched land had been profaned and had rocks lain over nearly the entire mountaintop, and performed cleansing rituals for several weeks over the new raised summit. They asked my sister and I over and over what we had chanted, checked the steps of our ritual, tried over and over to determine what had happened that night. They turned their eyes to us. By the next full moon they had detained us and were deciding upon our fate. Svetlana attempted to reassure me, but I was too despondent at the loss of my mother to listen to her.

It was the 1st day of Rain's Hand, Year 427. Without a word, we were brought to the beach and placed in a boat fashioned with a sail. We were each given a pendant fashioned out of a fragment of the cursed Gate, which were sealed with binding spells to prevent us from removing them—a precaution in case other cultures had knowledge of the black Gates, to mark us as tainted by them. Though we were but children, the wise elders of our tribe sent us to the sea on the whims of the wind.

"Where do you think we can go?" I asked Svetlana.

"Cyrodiil," she responded, calmly.

A strange name, I thought. At this time, I knew nothing of the world outside my island, and by all rights it should be the same for Svetlana. When I asked her about it, she recalled that Mother had told her that was where her father lived, and that it was to the east. Neither of us had ever left our island. I checked our bearing by the sunlight; we were gliding steadily east. I wondered aloud how we were going to locate a lone person we didn't have a name 

or face for in a country we didn't know how to find. Svetlana smiled. She had a password, she said... something that her father had told Mother in case she ever was to come to his homeland.

"Greet the new day."


	2. II: Lands of the Mer

28th of First Seed, Year 434 of the Third Era

It has been more than a fortnight since I could find the time or shelter to write. Now I am safely in the chambers of my Instructor once again, having completed the tasks she sent me into that strange wilderness for. But, before I make my situation of the present known, I feel I should continue where I left before in the story of my past.

I will not bore the reader with detail of the countless days and nights Svetlana and I spent on the sea in deep melancholy. It was the same thing day in, day out. We ate little, spoke little, and slept little, spending several nights watching the reflection of the moons on the sea. We continued east, bearing a little north, for fear we might reach by accident the mythical "Blue Island" and its snake-taming Sea Elves that in our children's tales came by night to Vizzafir to steal away and eat ill-behaved children. I still believed in such things at this age, and often lay in the boat at night fearing that they would surely come for children as tainted as ourselves.

The shores of a great land, or large island, I knew not which at first, came into view after these many days of floating fast down a strong wind. Though it was a relief at first when we came into view of a port city, we paused, knowing not how we would be received with the cursed amulets around our necks. Resolving that we would sew it back together, we cut our only wool blanket in twain, wrapped the pieces around our throats like scarves, and went ashore on a stretch of sand a small distance away from the city.

Neither of us had seen an Altmer before, although they lived rather close compared to other lands. No ships sailed to Vizzafir. It was also rather evident that these Altmer had never 

seen a Fionncine before. They were far taller than us, and taller than any of our full-grown adults. They had no tails, and their ears were long and pointed, and free of fur. They wore clothes unlike anything we had seen before, all in brilliant colors, and softer than the thinnest hide. They wore binding garments of hide or more strange cloth on their feet—shoes were also something I had never encountered. I felt awkward in their midst in naught but my short hide dress and dirty bare feet. Svetlana grew a little excited when she noticed the resemblance she bore to them with her golden skin and lanky frame, and attempted to ask a nearby guard if we had reached Cyrodiil.

It was here we encountered the first of our obstacles. The guard stared at her rather blankly, and asked her in a strange, almost indecipherable accent to repeat herself. I didn't understand it then, but I now can tell my reader that this was due to our common ancestor, the Aldmer that lived in the area so many thousands of years ago. Our languages had the same source, but had taken different turns over the centuries. The guard eventually informed us that we were in the port city of Llindaril, in the northwest of the Summerset Isles, and that Cyrodiil was still very far away, but just as Svetlana had thought, he pointed us east.

We thought to go to their market but Svetlana pointed out we had nothing to trade. After watching a few brief exchanges between the vendors and the customers, it appeared that they traded using circular objects that reflected sunlight, so we went to the shoreline, gathered the best and brightest shells, and attempted to barter. My reader may expect the result that we were subsequently laughed away from the Altmer woman's stand in humiliation. If it had not been for the patient explanations of an old man decorated with gems and gold who saw the entire scene, we would have simply given up. He taught us about money and how it is used, and even gave us three coins apiece before he left.

We stayed in Llindaril for two days' time, sleeping in our grounded boat and teaching ourselves how to communicate more effectively with the few Altmer that would give us the time of day, and figuring out how to make our six coins buy the things we needed such as food and twine. Most turned their noses up at our very presence. Therefore, our stay wasn't long; my fascination with the place wore out quickly. Svetlana lost her interest as soon as she learned she hadn't yet reached Cyrodiil. Before we left, however, we bought a new blanket in lieu of repairing our old one, since I pointed out that we didn't know when we would have to conceal our pendants again.

We traveled slowly along the northern coast of Summerset Isle, stopping as needed, for several days before we again found ourselves on the open sea. We passed by the Isle of Artaeum, once the homeland of our ancestor Fiona, and saw from our boat no persons or ports but only idyllic beach and pasture and wood. We dared not set foot on this land or even draw our boat closer. The power of the Psijics, as I have learned in time, is feared and respected in the far corners of the world—the idea of breaking their ancient banishment of our people by landing there was far too fearful for us.

Green shores appeared in the east, and we were told it was the 27th of Rain's Hand in Year 427 when Svetlana and I reached the great Bosmer city of Falinesti by travelling not a day's worth up the Xylo River. It appeared to us as the greatest tree we had ever seen, the city laid within its branches so high our necks strained to see it from the riverbank. However, we were stopped at its entrance and denied passage. The Bosmer tongue was even harder for us to hold dialogue with than the Altmer, but eventually we deciphered that they refused us entrance because they thought we were Ka Po'Tun. (I knew not until later that the Ka Po'Tun were a race of Akavir, a land to the distant east of even Cyrodiil.) Unable to communicate effectively, and exhausted, Svetlana and I merely figured out the direction we needed and left to spend the 

night in the forest. The resources of this region—they called it Valenwood—were plentiful in things a Fionncine could eat, so we continued up the wide river as far as we could, eating the rich yet foreign forest mushrooms and drinking rainwater that gathered in pots set with wide leaves acting as a funnel. We encountered other tree-cities but did not bother to approach them, and many a night I or Svetlana woke startled from our sleep, thinking we had just caught a glimpse of a wild-looking Bosmer or a wood-witch in the distant trees.

Eventually the river became so swift and rocky that even with steady paddling we could no longer make progress on our boat. I counted it four days since we were turned away from the gates of Falinesti. We were forced to abandon the pathetic vessel that had served as our home for a full cycle of the moons in the jungle and begin navigating our way east by the light of the sun in the day and by the stars at night. Our path grew ever steeper.

The trees gradually grew smaller and vanished altogether, and though we had been in deep woods that morning we found ourselves in barren desert come the sunset. The air was mild when we arrived but we dreaded the rise of afternoon in this endless, sea-less beach. We spent the night on warm sand, beneath the painted Altmer blanket that sheltered us from the surprisingly chill night wind. We had unknowingly crossed the border into Elsweyr.


	3. III: Elsweyr

30th of First Seed, 3e434

I would have continued yesterday had my Instructor's other apprentice not made yet another of her vain attempts on my life. Despite the poisoned wine I still had enough strength to dispatch her with a Psijic grasp, although she was quickly brought back by our Instructor, who scolded us both firmly and set us back to our studies. I shall have to wait for the poison to truly wear off—yet until then I have little strength, and all I can think to do to occupy myself is attempt to finish the story of how Svetlana and I reached our new home of Cyrodiil.

When we first entered these desert lands we felt as if we had reached the edge of the world itself. Often and long we wandered into the sands, but we never strayed too far from the edge of the forest where water ran and food grew plentifully. Discouraged from going east, we began to trail south.

One night, several days into this confused trek, Svetlana woke me with a wild look on her face. She had sensed three presences heading straight for us. I waited a moment, and when they grew closer, I became able to sense them as well, my Psijic senses being not as strong as hers. We hid ourselves in a patch of rocks but it was no use—they were Khajiit nomads, and had been able to smell us nearby for almost a day. We were at first frightened at their cat-like faces, furry bodies and intimidating demeanor, but their clan showed us great kindness. Their language was utterly foreign to us, but offerings of food and water and soft blankets needed no translation.

In the morning it was revealed that some of these nomads could speak a language we could at least partially understand—Tamrielic. We explained that we were unsure of how to cross the sands, and told of our destination, Cyrodiil. Their Clan Mother, a woman named Ra'tsashi, showed us the method their Mystics had learned to discover water hidden underneath the sand. Svetlana picked it up brilliantly—I would continue to make hopeless attempts at it until near the end of our stay in Elsweyr.

Ra'tsashi would not teach us the language of the Khajiit or let us mix much with the others of her clan but was pleased enough to care for us and teach us Tamrielic as long as we pledged ourselves to her service. We had little choice—we were indebted to her kin, and the knowledge she offered was invaluable for our trials ahead. She assured us it was not slavery we entered into, but merely a temporary contract that we would be released from after we had sufficiently paid back our debt. It was also Ra'tsashi that was the first outside Vizzafir to lay eyes on our cursed pendants and hear the truth of our exile, and she did not judge us.

In order to pay back our debt, Ra'tsashi had both Svetlana and I trained so that we could be useful to her needs. She tried us at several different errands and tasks. She came to have great faith in Svetlana's divination and rely on it for many clan decisions, and my ability to remain completely undetected if I so wished combined with my small size were my greatest assets to the Clan Mother. I had an eye for gems and gold and collected a good many for Ra'tsashi while my sister determined where our next fortune lay, and she gave us both a disciplined love and cared for us as if we were her own children. She also introduced us to a wonderful thing called Moon Sugar, letting us have small samples now and then when she was especially pleased with us. We both grew rather fond—these several years later I am still, a vial of Moon Sugar sits just on the far side of my cell of a room.

This idyll did not last too long for us. Somewhere near the end of Second Seed in Year 428, not much more than a year after we had joined with Ra'tsashi's clan, she declared our debt paid in full and took us as close as her clan would wander East, which left us in the sparse beginnings of a forest. We were warned in short words that lay before us, but it did not stop our hearts from swelling with joy when we stood on the banks of the Lower Niben for the first time—we had reached Cyrodiil.


	4. IV: Our Place in Cyrodiil

30th of First Seed, 3e434 -- continued

And thus, about five years passed. Svetlana and I lived as best we could and even saved up enough gold to buy ourselves a place to live. The Waterfront District of the Imperial City became our new home and we had a leaky shack near the waterside to call our own. Not that there was much complaining—I consider this time, perhaps, to be the greatest idyll I have ever experienced first-hand. We were poor but happy.

It wasn't long before we were both members of guilds, attempting to earn gold and a name for ourselves. I was picked up relatively swiftly by the Thieves' Guild, after I found myself face-to-face with my first real competitor attempting to rob the same luxuriant home in the Temple District. Methredel was her name, and although our first encounter was confrontational, I learned in time that she was a very inventive and clever sort of thief, not to mention quite the beauty, and we came to be close friends within the Guild.

Svetlana began making money by performing magic and other tricks on the street, and this led to her finding by an individual I could never find to be anything but a pompous Imperial, the Master-Wizard Raminus Polus. He sent my sister home in tears on one occasion because she had performed some of Vizzafir's magic arts and it had almost gotten her banned from her Guild, and she spent the next fortnight away from the city, gathering batches of plants, flowers, and other samples to pay back her infraction. I thought to confront him directly, feeling my people's honor slighted, but she begged of me not to. Necromancy, she said it was called here, the art of reanimating the dead, capturing souls, or summoning the undead, and it was apparently taboo within the Mages' Guild.

Early in the year 3e433, I was beaming with pride, having just completed a task set to me by the Thieves' Guild. The entire Waterfront, ourselves included, had been shaken down for excess taxes by one of the few people I knew to be more self-righteous than even Raminus Polus, the Imperial Watch Captain Hieronymous Lex. This man in particular made hunting our Guild and especially our unseen leader, the Gray Fox, his personal mission. My task was to break into his office and steal back everything that had been taken and return it to the poor of the Waterfront. I succeeded, much to the annoyance of Captain Lex. Something in the way he looked at me afterwards when he patrolled our district told me he knew I had done it, but with no evidence, he let me be.

After this task I held on to the tax records I retrieved from the office, as a memento, if you will. I left it on our table when I went to sleep for the day, having been awake all night in order to complete my mission, and when I woke in the early evening, it was missing, as was my sister. Once it grew late I set out to find her.

I was in the Elven Gardens district when I heard an odd clanging, and her voice. Another voice joined her, a High Elf female, speaking her native tongue, but when I followed the sound I found my sister standing alone next to a garden well. Her tattered second-hand apprentice robes were soaked from the knee down with foul-smelling water—likely from the sewers, as there was a passage into them nearby—and two heavy tomes were held close to her breast. I revealed myself from the shadows, and she embraced me cheerfully, her face full of joy. "I have met my Aunt!" she proclaimed, taking my hand in hers and running home.

Once we were behind closed doors and her chattering had slowed down a bit, I learned that she had located one of her Altmer relatives that was staying for the time being in the Imperial Waterfront. A combination of mixing with the local High Elf community and a 

chance look at the papers I had obtained had made her years of search finally begin to pay off. She had finally made contact with her roots in Cyrodiil, but in my mind, it only raised all the more questions. When I was younger I hadn't cared much about who my sister's father was, or how she had come to be. She was just my sister, and it was what I knew and accepted and nothing could still change that. But I recalled no outsiders ever visiting the island, and it was never mentioned as far as I could remember. Gasan Annuska never left the island in all her life. So what bizarre twist of Arnysten's Will had brought Svetlana about?

The books were a strange matter in my eyes. Her Aunt had delivered them to her upon their first meeting, which had apparently been set up through a contact and not directly, which struck me as unusual way for family to behave. Svetlana was to study them in depth and meet with her aunt again in the space of two months, upon which she would be given another set of two books. Once she had completed her study of the third and fourth books, she would apparently have all the knowledge she would require to meet her father at long last and become a member of the family. Absurd! I asked her, did Mother not love, accept, and care for us as we were, because we were her daughters, not for any other qualification? Svetlana defended him adamantly. He merely wanted to see how she had grown and how she could best benefit their family, she said. I could not question the fire in her eyes. Her heart was set. There was nothing I could have done.

I sat back and watched while the months passed. Svetlana toiled away in long hours of study over the tomes each day, spending the rest of her time either at the Arcane University or at home teaching me all that she was learning studying under the associates of Raminus Polus. She made her second meeting with her aunt, gently refusing my pleas to come along on the promise that one day I would meet with her entire family. I also attempted to read these heavy books she had brought home, but I had not the patience and they made little sense to me. To 

recall a passage in particular, one I heard recited by my sister on occasion, keeping in mind the fogginess of memory:

"...a storm, the rush of plagued rain... all the tinder of Anu, the eyes of Padhome..."

It was summer when her studies finally reached a conclusion. Her aunt had left her on her own to figure out the final clues and it wasn't long before her cleverness worked to her advantage and she was preparing for a journey to the northeast of the Imperial City. She was almost positive it was where her father was, she said to me, clasping my hands in her own that trembled with excitement. She promised that her first task would be to see that I was allowed to meet with them as she was. We're going to be a family again, I remember hearing her say, tears in her eyes, embracing me tight. And then she left, and I saw her not again for over a fortnight.

During her absence, there occurred an incident I would not think to mention did I not see its significance in my own reflections. One particularly quiet evening a knock came at the door, loud, upset. It was Raminus Polus, who I was less than impressed to see, asking, no, demanding to see Svetlana immediately, as she had not appeared at the Arcane University for a week, and apparently had been "acting strange". I thought it strange indeed that she should not tell her guild-mates that she would be out of town for some time, but told him anyway that she had headed in the direction of Cheydinhal on a personal affair. He pried, but I spoke no further of my sister's business, and politely as I could manage, turned him away when he attempted to enter. His eyes were fixated on the four tomes stacked on the table more often than on me.

Svetlana returned just at sunrise two days before her eighteenth birthday, specifically on the 21st of Sun's Height. She had achieved her dream after a six-year pursuit, and it showed in her beaming smile. "Greet the new day, sister," she said, pulling me into an embrace. "I'm home."


	5. V: The Coldest Summer

30th of First Seed, 3e434 -- continued

A great deal of Svetlana's time became devoted to ritual in place of study. Meditation, chants, prayers, day in and day out, but aside from that she had barely changed. She had indeed met her father, and according to her, her grandfather was alive and well also, and was some sort of brilliant sage or philosopher and his children—Svetlana's father and aunt—were the heirs to his knowledge. She began to question the very fabric of reality that surrounded her, opening up to a strange, supernatural curiosity beyond that of even the curiosity that was both a virtue and fall of our Fionncine race. The wisdom and purity of divine Arnysten herself and even the pantheon of gods and goddesses that the people of Cyrodiil worshipped, of their motives and actions, the ethics of the Mage's Guild and even my own Thieves' Guild, nothing went un-scrutinized by her questing mind. And when she spoke her mind, she seemed to care very little who was listening.

It was less than a month since her return when I came home to my world destroyed.

I can barely remember what I even did to the stranger. I opened the door to my home and saw Svetlana lying on the floor of the darkened house, crimson candles circling her and strange etchings in chalk on the visible floor. Alkanet flowers, a favorite of hers, were scattered all about. The stones shone wet with blood. A man in mage's robes stood over her, dagger in hand, and his throat was in my hands one moment and he lay dead the next. My sister's long copper locks, adorned with a strange beaded headdress, concealed her face. I shook her gently and she would not stir; I turned her over and—my mind recalls the sickening horror. Her favorite new robes, given to her by her cherished father, made black with gore, azure eyes wide with pain and terror... I cannot continue to describe it.

I had little time for tears here. I remember no sounds, but the man must have died with a cry enough, for several guards came bursting into my door while I kneeled next to Svetlana's body and dragged me outside. I tried to cry that my sister had been murdered, but they ignored me, instead telling me I had killed a man who was attempting to protect the Empire. Lies, lies! We were no enemies of Cyrodiil! My words were unheeded, and in place of execution, it was decided that I should serve a sentence. I was thrown into the Imperial Prison.

I was struck that no one would hear me. I wrote a plea to the Mages' Guild, and they sent their messenger back only to tell me that I was on my own as Svetlana had been ousted posthumously from the Guild for "repeated practice of deviant and banned arts, despite warnings by colleagues and superiors". I was contacted by the Thieves' Guild after a few days with a similar message, only directed towards me, "the Thieves' Guild cannot harbor murderers, as it breaks our essential tenets..." the general idea being that I was no longer a member. I was all alone, and it didn't look like I was going to see daylight again anytime soon.

I started attempting to count the days but lost track after less than a fortnight. I spent all my time either practicing the Psijic magic of Vizzafir or keeping my body fit with exercises and by using the heavy chains hanging in my cell to strengthen myself, beating on them mindlessly until my hands were bleeding and purple. It was all I could do to stay sane. In my dank cell it was hard to believe my sister was gone, and not simply waiting by Lake Rumare in the sunshine for me to crawl out of the darkness and return home. My short hair grew long and matted. I grew used to having occasional taunting sessions with the Dunmer in the cell across from mine, a truly disgusting person indeed, but my only source of conversation.

It was during one of these that my luck changed a bit. Who should show up in the middle of our spat but the Emperor of Cyrodiil himself, a withered stick of a man who called himself Uriel Septim the Seventh. I had only seen him perhaps once or twice before, and always from a great distance, and never had I paid him much mind. Seemed there was some sort of great disaster going on, but I wasn't keen on listening, that is, until they showed up in front of my cell door. With threats and then shoves an armored Redguard forced me to the back of the cell while someone else opened a passage the sight of which infuriated me. It had been there all along? I felt like an imbecile.

The Emperor's eyes caught my own, for only a split second, and he stopped in his tracks. I felt the gaze penetrate straight into my mind. A rush of images, a strike of pain that felt as if it pierced my brain—and as his protectors urged him along it passed, and I was let to drop to the floor by the strong armored hand that had been pinning me against the wall. The entourage passed into the darkness of the passage, and—lo and behold! They left it open. Did they think I was just going to hang behind?

I followed them at a safe distance, keeping as quiet as a mouse. I heard commotion on several occasions and passed several robed corpses. I recognized the body of one of the Emperor's guards as well, amidst several of the robed figures. Cold in the tattered sack cloth I wore, I donned one of the sleek crimson robes that bore minimal damage and a pair of shoes that fit as closely as I could manage to find. At one point the group ahead passed through a door with a lock I could not open, but a crack in the walls showed me through on another route. They stopped to converse at one point, and ambitiously trying to get too close, I stepped on a loose patch of masonry and fell a couple of meters and into their midst. Unfortunately, the folly of donning the enemy's garb didn't dawn on me until three armed men were nearly upon me and the Emperor, with sudden bellowing authority, called a halt.

I was recognized, and it saved me. After the Emperor exchanged minor words with me, the same nasty Redguard from before shoved a torch into my hand and told me to make myself useful. I handed it back in quite a similar manner, explaining slowly so that he might understand, that I would be of most 'use' if both my hands were free. The next time the group was ambushed, I proved well enough that I had my point.

Soon enough the entire company was in confusion when we found the route blocked off. The entourage allowed themselves to separate and scatter, and I alone found myself intelligent enough to stick close to the Emperor in the midst of all the surprise attacks. The enemy's tactic worked quite efficiently—I alone wasn't enough, as I had suspected. Within minutes the old man fell. I was unable to stop the assassin that came through a passage I hadn't seen, right behind my back. Dressed in the same crimson robes as the rest, he froze when he saw me, dropping his weapon on the stone and bowing before me in a curious manner, only to be struck down by my furious blow to his spine.

A shaking hand caught my eye, and especially, the large, shining red jewel held in it. The Emperor was still living but fading fast. The final words of Emperor Uriel Septim VII were his pleas to me to take this Amulet and keep it safe, at any cost. I asked what I should do, but received no clear answer except that he was sure that the Amulet would guide me, and he passed.

I heard the clanking of armor, and felt a rush of fear. I darted into the passage the assassin had come from and proceeded to look for a way out. I could hold my own well enough, but against multiple opponents, clad in armor, and with only my fists, didn't sound as though they were the best odds. You protect the Emperor, they had said. What would a lowly prisoner's punishment be for failing such a task? No less than death, my mind imagined. There was no question. I had to escape.

I found a sewer grate further in and proceeded through, looking over my shoulder at every turn. Dark tunnels went on and on, each one looking almost the same as the last, until at the end of a long passage, white light! I bolted for it, throwing the gate open and stepping into the bright morning sunlight for the first time in what I later found out to be forty days.


	6. VI: Lucrezia

4th of Rain's Hand, 3e434

My mind went through several different plans after my sister's passing. I wondered the significance of staying in Cyrodiil at all at times and thought about crossing the border into Morrowind or heading north to Skyrim for little more than the change of scenery. Other times, I thought perhaps I could track down Svetlana's family—it seemed likely to me that I could be taken in there, even if I would perhaps do some of the work first, but I had no idea where to even begin finding them.

I wandered the Valus Mountains along Morrowind's border for some time. The climate was mild enough, but in the autumn came rainfall after rainfall. The forests were full of good things to eat. It reminded me much of the time I spent travelling through Valenwood, but far lonelier—at least at the beginning. One night, I retreated into a mountainside cave to shelter from yet another of the region's sudden thunderstorms. I fell asleep too quickly, but when I woke minutes later, I was very much not alone.

Large, powerful teeth sinking into my arm was what woke me with a scream. I found myself face-to-face with a lioness as large as myself and about twice as powerful. I daren't try to rip my arm free, but something seemed amiss. I would have thought the creature more likely to have leapt upon my throat... in which case I might not have woken at all. Rather than standing over my prone form she lay on her side beside me, snarling and raging on and refusing to loosen her hold on my arm. Prying at her mouth with my free hand had no result, and I was delirious with pain. My hand groped blindly in the dark of the cave for another hold on the animal. I took a strikingly limp paw into my hand and gave a firm yank. I was freed! The lioness released me to emit a deafening roar, and I took the opportunity to scramble on all fours to the entrance of the cave and glanced over my shoulder... and paused.

I understood then. The creature snarled hatefully, dragging itself across the floor of its cave, eyes on me. One front and one hind leg each were clearly broken, and there were dark, horrid scabs on the limbs, and her whole form was emaciated. Turning my back on the creature, I ventured into the rain, working my downhill and towards the river that lay at the bottom of the valley.

I returned in short order with three hand-caught fish from the river, and they were immediately devoured by the hungry beast. It was at that point that she no longer acted hostile toward me, but were I to get close enough to attempt to treat her with herbs or spells I would earn a warning swipe from the good paw. The next day I retrieved food for her again, this time a doe I caught with careful use of stealth, and even this barrier came to drop. In a few days' time I was treating the animal's mending bones, and even stroking her fur from time as one would a pet cat. It would be weeks before she was able to walk on her own, and when I left her cave, she would not let me go alone. When it became clear enough to me that the lioness was determined to stay at my side, I gave her a name, a tribute to my mother's own predecessor: Lucrezia.

* * *

First-ever author update!

Act One is almost over, folks... not that there's anyone reading. The backstory has almost reached a conclusion. Act Two to come in not long. Maybe one or two more in Act One, but I've been looking more forward to what I haven't written than what I have.

-Capella


	7. VII: Sins of the Unworthy

4th of Rain's Hand, 3e434

For the weeks I spent healing Lucrezia and for the further weeks that followed, I entered civilized areas only at the dark of night to steal. The eastern wilderness was full of places to hide out quite comfortably and since I could eat wild food my trips of burglary were only for luxuries such as books, clothing and candles. I wonder of the look on my victims come the morning and their candlesticks and shoes are all missing, but all the silver and jewels? Rummaged through, untouched.

I will complete this account of my past, finally, with the events that led me to my present home.

In a pile of books I had haphazardly stolen one night there was slipped a copy of the latest courier-brought news. I settled in to read it one soggy afternoon with my lunch, but soon lost interest in eating. The page described a sickly ritual in which one was apparently able to summon an assassin that would kill anyone you could give a name or adequate description of.

A scene flashed in my mind. I saw myself handing over money to a cloaked figure, a smile on my face, and the words 'Raminus Polus' slowly leaving my lips. I glimpsed the hated Imperial pig lying bloodied and dead on the street. I nearly made up my mind right then and there. The man that had killed Svetlana with his own hand was dead, and I had never known even his name. But I hadn't forgotten the man who put her in tears over her own people's customs, made her ashamed to be a true Vizzafir Psijic. I hadn't forgotten his suspicion, his prying, all spawned from that same Imperial self-righteousness. I knew she had been doing something he didn't 'approve of'. I couldn't forget that the mages' robes on the killer were the same worn by all of his trusted associates. And therefore I couldn't separate Raminus Polus from the death of Svetlana.

To think that all it would take would be a bag of gold, a ritual, and that vision where he lay dead or, preferably, dying quite slowly, on the cold street would become a reality!

But was that what I wanted? Of course, but not this way. It seemed more like something a crooked merchant would do, or perhaps, someone who wasn't strong enough to perform the act themselves. Why should I accept the services of another for something I was perfectly able to do myself? It seemed contradictory. I also had no gold, when I paused to think about it. I could just as well obtain it but the entire idea of employing this Dark Brotherhood seemed like the coward's way to me now.

I headed downhill and west, taking my time and sometimes not travelling at all for a day or two, making for the White Gold Tower that had never left my sight, no matter how far into the wilderness I had wandered. Lucrezia was on my heel the entire journey, quite able these days to find her own food when she got hungry and drag it back to where I was camped. On many occasions I would hunt with her, for the exercise and sheer thrill mainly, and with our combined efforts the tackling and killing of a deer was much faster and more efficient.

Now, the people of my island were no hunters, the primary staples of our diet being fruit and mushrooms with the occasional inclusion of turtle eggs, if we by chance happened upon some. We scavenged kills of predatory animals for bones to use in ritual or decoration, but never ate the meat. It took some time before I could be quite able to enjoy my dinner at the same time Lucrezia enjoyed hers, and she seemed puzzled that I would not take offerings of raw limbs or such she would drop in my lap until she gave up on that entirely.

We reached the hyacinth-dotted banks of Lake Rumare by sunset one evening and made camp in a cluster of trees a small distance from the water. Lucrezia occupied herself while I made a fire by making sport of the mudcrabs that scuttled along the riverbank. She ended up bringing back four that weren't fortunate enough to make it into the deeper water in time, but was quite confounded by their hard shells, so I dashed them against rocks for her until the flesh was accessible enough that she could eat.

The next day we scouted out the closest entry point into the Imperial Sewers and began to explore. Lucrezia tore many a rat and mudcrab to shreds, and I found myself face-to-face with at least a dozen goblins before all was said and done that first day. With each kill I pretended it was my vengeance I was carrying out, and my thirst for it only grew in my mind. I went on like this for several days, navigating my way through the sewer by day and sleeping outdoors by night. My thoughts became more and more focused on what I now believed I had no choice but to do. Four days into my explorations, after taking many wrong turns, I found a way through that took me right onto the grounds of the Arcane University, and set up a camp of sorts just below this grate.

The Imperial Watch had at least thought of one thing—the Market District. I found my way beneath it all the access points were cleverly cut off or inoperable. I was forced to use an access point in the Elven Gardens District in order to find places to steal the things I needed such as candles. I slept mostly in the daytime, staying vigilant at night and occasionally entering the University grounds in order to scout out where my target went to sleep. I entered the room once or twice. It would be risky; the room was very crowded, and the other floors only contained more sleepers in the same barrack-style setup.

I consumed a fair amount of wine during these extremely long nights. As alcohol was something foreign to my people I was fairly new to it myself, and had not quite the refined treatment that these Heartlanders had developed for it. My fatal flaw? Once I opened a bottle of good wine I would not stop drinking until the bottle was spent. If there were other bottles nearby I would even start on a second one, and the ordeal was usually not over until I had fallen asleep, usually on a bare floor, and I always woke in misery. During her life, Svetlana had fallen prey to this unstoppable process many times along with myself, the both of us laughing and drinking until we could no longer move. Such bittersweet memory usually led to only a swifter refilling of my glass on many a night.

One night, when I was a good three-quarters of the way through a bottle of twenty-year-old Skingrad vintage, I abandoned my stolen silver goblet and sipped the bottle as I wandered north through the passages. Lucrezia had disappeared early that evening, I presumed it meant she had gone outdoors to hunt as per usual. I thought to myself that I could also use some fresh air, and started to head for the access point to the surface. I was lost within twenty minutes, stumbling through unfamiliar after unfamiliar passage and fending off the occasional rat. In a particularly darkened room, my footing gave way, and I fell to the cold, damp stone, dashing my head quite excellently against the wall.

The world spun around me, and in all my attempts to get to my feet I felt I simply had the wrong idea of which way was up. I managed to get to my hands and knees, though I frequently wound up falling to my elbows. Voices began to echo down the corridors and I tried to move myself in the opposite direction, until I heard something that made my heart skip and subsequently sink with realization.

Svetlana. There was no second guess about it in my intoxicated, concussion-delirious brain. That musical voice, words too echoed and my head too fuzzy to differentiate could belong to no other. Her accent and flux of speech that only she and I shared in this strange land were impossible to mistake. I turned back, dragging myself through the filth and wearing my sackcloth dress thin against the abrasive stones, but fighting to keep my wine, which had not spilled during my fall, upright. It was the only relief I had for the painful throbbing on the back of my head. Other voices mixed and blurred in and out with the sound of Svetlana's own, but the direction was clear and I was able to follow, crawling along dizzily on the dirty stones.

The source got ever closer and my heart began to pound. The walls of the corridor became dark, closed-in and narrow, so I brought myself to an unsteady stand, leaning against them, and inched my way on. My whole world continued to tilt and spin in nausea-inducing patterns, and the wall to which I clung frequently switched. Pitch blackness broke and gave way to a faint firelight, and the voices all began to softly speak in unison, strange, unearthly words that were not Fionncine, Altmer, or Tamrielic. Svetlana's voice sounded out above these others, not chanting, but singing, a single, breathy, ethereal note, and the light and fire grew so bright that I, just around the corner, was blinded and fell to my knees.

I opened my eyes, blinking in blackness whilst my eyes re-adjusted to the once more dim firelight coming my way. The voices were gone, and when I crawled lightly to peek around, an empty room greeted me.

Yet only empty of life. Sensing no one I brought myself fully round the corner and sat in the room's torchlight, dazed. My drunken state tugged at my emotional strings. Perhaps that had been what toyed with me all along. It was just some thieves' den; they weren't that uncommon in the sewers. I felt silly, but began to cry nonetheless, which only made me feel more ashamed of myself. In the center of that room, equipped with bare wood furnishings, lumpy beds and bleak tables, I put the rest of my bottle of wine away and discarded the emptied vessel in a fitful throw against the nearest wall.

I stood up, largely recovered from my hit to the skull, and began to take real notice of my surroundings. Strange crimson banners hung from the walls. A fire, sweet-smelling from the burning of incense and spices, burned low in a brass holder with cushions set around it. Books of the extremely thick variety were all about. These things were far too peculiar for a set of bandits.

But these books were familiar. I picked up a copy from a table that was left a colorful mess of alchemy experiments and squinted at the first page in the dark. The weight, title, the elaborate and otherworldly speech—these were one and the same with Svetlana's books, although the covers were far less worn than the copies I remembered. This was merely the first volume. Lying just underneath it was the third volume, and stacking the heavy things on a stool, I began to search around for the second and fourth.

The fourth, to my dismay, escaped me in the end; I could find no copies of it in the entire area. The second I found on an old crate next to a bed, beneath a bowl of sweet blackberries—I trembled as I noted a fresh Alkanet flower sticking out from between the pages rather like a bookmark.


End file.
